


Whispers

by Macx



Series: Imperfection Deviation [27]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:46:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2159535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They thought the little Nokia-bot had been destroyed. Thing is, it's there. Faintly. Sam can feel it and he tries to bring it back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispers

Sam had finished his dissertation and it had been such a feeling of sudden freedom, it had taken his breath away – especially after the latest events. Without the books and edits and nights slaving over the paper, he felt a sudden hole in his life.

So he had turned to helping Ratchet.

The medic had started to go over each and every body shell in his extensive storage, deep-scanning them, looking for clues as to why something dead had revived. Jazz had joked that he had been dead, too, and had come back, but it hadn’t sat well. From the way Barricade had kept glowering at him for the next days, Sam was sure it had gone over really, really wrong.

Not that he hadn’t felt the spike of anger inside the former Decepticon. He had almost been able to ‘hear’ that pulse and ‘feel’ Barricade’s snarl. Jazz would have to tread carefully and soothe ruffled feathers. Barricade took reminders of Jazz’s death quite personally and very hard. Not that Jazz was all that careless about the experience either, but on the surface he handled it with a lot less seriousness and a lot more ease.

Still, it was only on the surface. Underneath Sam had seen and felt the turbulences. In both mechs.

The mystery remained for the shells, though. There was no Allspark to trigger a shell once more, and Will’s changed body wasn’t giving off energy bursts like the Allspark. His cells had absorbed what had remained of the mystical cube and he couldn’t give life. As he liked to repeat: he wasn’t the Allspark.

So the question remained: what had happened and how?

Two months after the incident, Sam sat in the lab, eyes closed, mind poking around a dead shell. It was one of many in the Sector Seven collection and he had picked it because of several reasons. One was he was tired of looking at twisted wrecks from around the time the Allspark had first been used as an experimental Frankenstein machine. All those wrecks and shells looked… scary. Inside and out. The other was that maybe, because of the recent death of this particular one, they might have a better chance determining what had happened.

There was a rather huge stack of M&Ms, chocolate bars and soft drinks to help him over the energy deficiency he experienced throughout these sessions. Concentrated work on a shell took a lot out of him and he usually felt like keeling over if he overdid it. Sam didn’t know if Trent was also responsible for the sweets on base, him being their logistician, but DeMarco kept dropping in on coffee breaks or after shifts to dump a box of anything sweet into his lap.

“Don’t overdo it,” was his usual remark.

Coffee was another tool to get Sam away from work, for at least fifteen minutes, and small talk about base operations, family, friends, the like. Sam was glad for the distractions, happy about talking to another human being, and he got to know more about Trent than he had ever known before.

Their friendship had grown and Sam was amazed what changes DeMarco had undergone from high school bully to… well… a really good friend. Trent knew about his abilities, he had been confronted with Will in his protoform, and he had battled the revived shell as it had tried everything to get out and flee, attacking them in turn.

Their attacker was dead. There was not even a blip left, but something was drawing the technopath’s attention as Sam swam through another dead shell’s mind. It was simple and not at all like the complicated pathways of a Cybertronian mind. But even simplicity was dangerous and he tended to get lost if he stayed too long. It was one reason why Bumblebee was always there. The other was his friend’s blatant worry and fear that Sam might get hurt.

::Sam?:: The worried mind-voice touched him from afar.

::There’s something…:: he murmured.

Bumblebee couldn’t piggy-back on Sam’s explorations. It was what worried him even more than anything else.

::Like a faint echo::

::Sam, please be careful::

::I am.::

And he went deeper, past locked down paths, past crumbled and charred remains of circuitry, past programs that had been blown apart. Sector Seven had created life with the Allspark and torn it apart with concentrated bursts of electricity. They had charred the body shells and fried the minds.

There.

Like a weak pulse.

Sam pushed past so many ruins and so much destruction, pushed deeper into the tiny mind, felt regret and remorse and nausea at what he touched and felt.

And then he saw it. Tiny, almost invisible, hiding underneath the remains of a mind that had been short-lived and filled with fear, lay a tiny spark. Not like a Cybertronian’s, but a hybrid of alien and human technology.

Sam gaped, stunned. He reached out and brushed over the tiny fragment, felt it shiver, afraid… terrified, actually. It wasn’t conscious, but it remembered its death, the attack on its existence. It clung to what it was, holding on with a fierce determination, and it was…

::Stasis:: Sam whispered. ::Good god! It’s in stasis!::

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLoooooooooooooooooooooooooooLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Optimus Prime had received many bad and worse news in his long life. He had heard many impossible things, had witnessed miracles and wonders, greatness and strength. Hearing about the survival of the tiny mech the humans had given life to had fallen in that category. Like Jazz’s return after his death it was a miracle, but he had mixed emotions about it.

The Nokia had had a brief life. A violent birth, an even more violent death. How much of the mind had survived that ordeal? How damaged was the tiny processor?

It had no spark, was no Cybertronian life form, but it was a life form. It was a hybrid, like all of its siblings. Like the one that had nearly killed Will, Sam and Trent.  
Ratchet was agitated. At least as agitated as he would show, which was not a lot, which in turn meant he was very agitated.

“The Nokia is not like Jazz,” the medic repeated. “It never had a spark, never had Cybertronian tech keeping it together. It was an artificial intelligence, trapped in a human-built device that was never intended to house such a mind. It was killed by a concentrated energy blast that wouldn’t have scratched our sparks at all. For it to survive this, it was a very strong life form.”

“One that might not survive coming back,” Optimus said thoughtfully.

“Maybe. But we can’t stand by and leave it to perish in stasis!” The medic’s optics flared in indignation. He would attempt to save any kind of life, even that of a tiny mechanoid created by an alien race by misusing the Allspark.

“I never said so. But it might kill it.”

“Yes. But it will most definitely die if we leave it like that, Prime. All the others did already.”

He nodded slowly. “What are the chances it will end up severely scrambled?”

“Fifty percent.”

Which weren’t really good odds. Not at all.

“But Sam said he wants to coax it back step by step, handle it slowly and not just reactivate the central processors. I agree that this might be the key to have it survive the ordeal.”

And be sane? Optimus thought to himself. All the others had overreacted and perished – or been killed.

“Are you sure you and Sam want to try this?”

Ratchet nodded firmly.

“All right. Try.”

Because all life had a right to live. Optimus stood by that.

Ratchet left and the office was plunged in silence. The Autobot leader gazed at his desk, noted the email sign blinking in the corner of his screen, and suppressed a sigh. Sometimes bureaucracy was as bad as any battle he had ever fought.

He turned to his computer and accessed his inbox.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLoooooooooooooooooooooooooooLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

 

The news about the Nokia’s survival had stirred memories in Jazz. Less than happy memories he still remembered almost completely. They hadn’t fallen prey to the darkness in his torn mind, the part that had been erased in his revival. While Jazz had dealt with recurring nightmares already and Barricade had set his head on straight several times, the reminder was… chilling. Jazz couldn’t say why, but he felt unwell in the base. He needed to stay away from the labs and the tiny creature. He needed to think about what this meant.

No one could claim that Jazz was the most introspective of mechs, at least those who only new him superficially. Those who had come to know the private part of him, the part he protected fiercely, knew that things did touch him. He had mourned his friends and comrades in his own way. He had dealt with grief and joy the way he saw fit. And when he needed to talk, he did it with a chosen few.

Throughout the war he had found a common mind in Optimus Prime. His spark-bonded hadn’t been an option for various reasons, the most prominent being that Barricade wasn’t around much. Their meetings were too brief to burden his partner with small grievings. Now it was different. Now they were together on a daily basis and not just their communication had changed; the whole spark bond felt different. Jazz hadn’t given it too much thought yet, but he knew he would want to know more about the changes.

Right now Jazz’s own spark ached in sympathy at what the Nokia had gone through. His own death had been just as violent, but not the same. It wasn’t a mirror of the Nokia, but their miraculous survival was, in a way. Just hearing about the experiments, the violent death and the stubbornness the little mech showed in clinging to life had Jazz shiver.

So he had left, driving around aimlessly until he had reached the mountains. The Rocky Mountains, to be precise, close to the Canadian Border.

Figure that, he thought darkly. Didn’t even notice where I was going.

Well, damn.

Jazz chose a remote location to finally transform and sat down on a boulder, watching a near-by river. It was a cold day and quite early. He had driven through the night, which he hadn’t really been aware of either. Of course Optimus knew that his First Lieutenant had left the base to have some time alone, but he hadn’t asked Jazz to call in every step of the way.

Why am I still thinking about this? he thought angrily. Why can’t I just forget about it all and go on? I’m an Autobot warrior! It’s not the first time I was confronted with death!

Well, it had been the first time he had died himself. Normally mechs didn’t come back from the dead, but his own spark had been just as stubborn as the Nokia’s. There had been something left, something so strong the Allspark shard had been able to revive it. Part of him had been lost, like memories. He knew there were sometimes deep holes inside, and it weighed on him. Jazz wasn’t the mech to let that bother him most of the time.

But sometimes, when something came too close to home, it jarred loose those emotions.

Slagit!

The sun rose, warmed the boulders, and Jazz watched the animal life around him. Earth was like a rehab center for him. He could relax in nature, or tune into a music program and forget the world, or watch TV all day and collect new memories. It was all relaxing for him. He didn’t need total stillness. He just needed… life. Still, in quiet moments, he remembered the fragments.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLoooooooooooooooooooooooooooLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

He watched his spark-bonded from the edge of the canyon. Barricade had followed Jazz as the silver Solstice had headed aimlessly along the highways, until he had taken an exit and ended up here. He knew what was going through his partner’s mind. He had faced it before. Right now Barricade stayed where he was; silent, just watching, and waiting.

It was close to darkness before Jazz moved, walking slowly along the river bank until he had reached the place where the former Decepticon sat silently.

“Hey,” was the soft greeting.

Red optics studied the rather subdued mech. Jazz knew what his partner was thinking – without being telepathic. Barricade had made his point clear several times, but Jazz couldn’t help those bouts of dark feelings. They all had them, because of different causes and events. His own had been recent. His death had managed what the millennia of war hadn’t – to dampen his spirit.

“Idiot,” Barricade now said softly.

Jazz smiled a little, shrugging. “Yeah. At least for the next millennium or so.”

Barricade snorted. “Nothing can cure Autobot idiocy,” he remarked. “Not even time.”

“Probably.”

There was a sliver of spark energy touching his own and he drew Barricade closer. While physical closeness wasn’t necessary, it helped. The receptors in his skin were fine-tuned and sensitive, more than any other Autobot’s he knew. It was what gave him an appreciation for what humans experienced in a hug or a caress. While Barricade and Jazz had never exchanged more than subtle gestures, they had started to change that. At least Jazz had. They were growing closer than they had been in all the time they had been bonded, thanks to spending so much uninterrupted and very open time together.

It helped.

A lot.

Barricade took the invitation and ran careful claws over the microreceptor skin.

“Idiot,” came the barely audible whisper.

Jazz wrapped his arms around Barricade’s middle, held him tightly, and just enjoyed the ministrations as their sparks slid closer together, pulsing in harmony.

He would work through this one day. Somehow. With reminders, though, it was harder. At least he had an unwavering, unquestioning support. Barricade was there, no matter what. Whatever others saw in him, Jazz knew no one could ever know the truth. Only a spark-bonded could understand what the Autobot experienced, how the trust he placed in Barricade was so absolute, so complete, and so true.

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLoooooooooooooooooooooooooooLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

They left the next morning, both quiet, not needing any words. The spark bond was still open, their sparks very close, and neither made an effort to change that.

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Will looked at the small creature on the table, tiny for a mech like Ratchet, small for a human. It was charred, blackened, circuitry destroyed. It had been killed in its transformed state. It looked like a char-broiled cockroach, but inside this little husk lay a mind in stasis, resilient and brave and so much attached to life that not even a burst of electricity strong enough to fell larger versions of it had managed to erase everything.

“You think it has a chance to survive?” he asked.

Ratchet looked thoughtful. “I don’t know. We saw what happened when the last one came back to life. They are so damaged… they are even more violent than their first incarnations.”

“The first time they woke up caged. The second time… it had just escaped death, Ratchet. It woke in an unfamiliar place, remembered a violent death…” Will met the blue optics. “We all know how Jazz felt. And he wasn’t fried alive.”

The medic nodded. “I know. It’s one of the first we have found, maybe the only one among the debris that was left. Sector Seven took many of the first ones apart and probably killed whatever had survived of them. Those last ones were brought to life by a brief burst and they ran out of energy before they could fully develop. This one…”

“Try?” Lennox requested softly.

“What if it is too damaged to survive? To be sane?”

Would they kill it? Lock it away? Stasis maybe?

A sad smile touched the hybrid’s lips. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, Ratchet. We can’t leave it like that. It might claw its own way back to consciousness and look what happened when it occurred the first time.”

Another nod. “I’ll try. Sam offered to help, communicate with it should it be sentient enough to understand.”

It was a start. The rest was only hope.

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The consciousness dreamed.

Nightmares.

Memories that were of a time when its life had been profoundly changed.

It also dreamed of happier times, times when it had been of use, when a human had been happy to have it, when it had been a device of communication, of connecting people. It remembered the joy and the freedom; but then the darkness had come. A lot of what had happened was like a totally different nightmare that culminated in deactivation.

It had been given a consciousness. Awareness. It was no longer a device with computer chips, but it was… someone. A personality. Like its last human. It felt and thought and could express itself.

Then there had been the very violent deactivation, filled with heat and pain and circuits burning.

More nightmares followed. Nightmares of tight spaces, of people staring at it, of confusion and fear and terror and and and…

Nightmares of being alone crashed down on the consciousness without a name, feeding the terror which in turn fed the nightmares. It was a vicious circle. The nightmares were a darkness that held it in a cold stranglehold through which no warmth could permeate.

It curled up inside itself, building walls, shivering in fear of being exterminated completely. It didn’t want to rise back to the surface.

But then the presence came. Soft and warm and so alien, but still caring.

Sound touched its core for the first time since it had been conscious.

It recoiled, trembling. There was music, a voice, the sound of someone working. It shivered. Someone was around it. The music was in the background, it realized after a while, actually rather nice, and the voice could only be heard now and then. Listening for a long time it got used to the voice and the music. Sometimes it thought the voice was talking to it, but why should it?

Was it safe? Was it a trap?

The fear still held it tightly. And so it remained deep inside the last corner of its mind, too afraid, too scared, and too damaged.

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Sam had started to spend a lot of time with the Nokiabot. At least he called it that. It had never had a name and no one had bothered to give it one either. For Sector Seven it hadn’t even been a file number due to the fact that it had died just before shit had hit the fan big time.  
Lost and alone, he thought. No one had cared about it any more after its deactivation. It had been boxed and shipped to the base, forgotten in a corner, only taken out for brief examinations. Sam wondered how many of the failed and killed experiments had been in such a deep stasis, their bodies charred, and slowly faded away into nothingness over the weeks or months after their presumed death.

He felt sick at the thought. Sick and nauseous and so very angry…

::Not your fault:: Bumblebee tried to soothe him.

::They were like children:: Sam whispered back.

::Children of the Allspark::

::And they could have been like you::

Bumblebee embraced him gently. ::Don’t mourn the past as long as there is a future::

Sam chuckled weakly. ::Yeah::

Repairs on the cell phone had progressed and he had restored all important circuitry. It was safe for the little bot to come back into its shell, but it hadn’t reacted to any contact. Sam had then started to rearrange the lab a little, as much as his small size allowed, and had only asked Ratchet for help when there was no other way.

The Autobot medic was monitoring Sam’s work and he had been surprised by the suggestion to give the Nokia constant outside input to get it used to the world outside its self-induced stasis. Sam was convinced the little guy could hear them on a subconscious level.

Sensors kept an eye on every little blip the Nokia made and Sam checked the read-outs constantly. It liked music, he had found out. All kinds of music, except the heavy stuff and some classical pieces.

“We’ll get you back,” he told the unresponsive cell. “And you’ll be safe.”

LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLoooooooooooooooooooooooooooLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

 

Lennox walked into the quiet lab, eyes falling on the motionless shell on Ratchet’s work bench. It was tiny; looked lost and alone. Sam had tried to coax the terrified mind back to consciousness, but the stasis lock was strong and the mind kept the key in the lock from its side.

I’d be terrified, too, he thought. I wouldn’t trust a soul, whatever they promised. I’d stay in my safe little world.

It was what the Nokia did.

He sat down cross-legged next to the examination pad. Sensors kept an eye on the Nokia’s progress, or lack thereof.

These were the times Will wished he had the power of the Allspark, could reanimate the dead shell.

“You didn’t deserve this. None of them did.”

Lennox looked at the runes drifting over his skin. He sighed and reached for the tiny robot. It looked like a dead insect, on its back, legs in the air.

“No progress,” a voice rumbled, not even forming it as a question.

Will shook his head. Ironhide stepped closer. He let a finger trail over the human’s back.

“This is one time I wish I were the Allspark,” Lennox only said.

“But you aren’t and I’m actually glad.”

It got Ironhide a wry laugh. “If you ever start worshipping me, I’ll kick your exhaust through your air intakes.”

Ironhide laughed. “Just try, Lennox, just try.”

“Hey, I can take you.”

“In your dreams.”

The runes flared on his arms, like separate entities that had just taken offense, and Ironhide gave a rumble of amusement.

Lennox got up, casting a last look at the stasis-locked Nokia, then let Ironhide help him down. Blue optics regarded him quizzically. Will smiled reassuringly, then turned and left the lab. Ironhide followed wordlessly.

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Time passed by.

It knew that whatever was outside was still there, that it waited for it to react, but it couldn't. Could it? It sometimes felt the stranger outside access its systems and it was helpless while watching him work. Parts of its body were carefully split and then removed, but no one ever touched its consciousness.

Whoever was out there knew what he could do and stopped whenever it might endanger the core.

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Sam still worked on the shell, He had removed damaged circuitry and replaced it, arguing that if the Nokia felt that its body was being restored it might be encouraged to come out of stasis. Will thought it was a sound argument and he frequently checked in on the lab, watching the progress.

It was throughout one such visit, when Sam was almost done with the finer details of the insides of the tiny robot, that the younger man suddenly stiffened. Sam stared at the cell phone, then his eyes widened and his mouth opened to say something. He was interrupted by small red optics flaring to life.

Will gave an exclamation of surprise as the spidery little thing moved and Sam almost dropped it in shock. Red optics met brown eyes, then the Nokia squealed and tried to scramble off Sam’s hand, the legs uncoordinated and threatening to collapse under the body. When Sam curled his hands around it, the small creature gave a terrified shriek and attacked the hands keeping it prisoner.

“Ow!” Sam exclaimed and dropped the phone, which scuttled across the wide expanse of the table.

It was stopped by the sheer drop to the ground, nervously running back and forth along the edge. Tiny chitters emerged from its voice processor.

“Sam?”

Will cursed Ratchet’s entrance as it spooked the Nokia again and it started hissing, tiny gattling gun swivelling around and around. It wasn’t armed, but it was good at posing, Lennox mused.

“It’s alive?” Ratchet exclaimed and peered at the human-created robot.

The Nokia spit expletives. At least Will thought they were. He didn’t understand the language, but the tone of voice was clear.

“Ratchet, you’re scaring it!” Sam called. “It’s terrified.”

Ratchet moved back a little, still scanning the revived cell phone transformer, and the Nokia cowered down, hissing slightly. It wasn’t more than an ant compared to Ratchet’s size, but it wasn’t scared enough to simply give up. Its wing-like structures flared now and then, accompanied by what seemed to be threats. Not that it had any chance against even a human, for all its tiny size, but it had courage. A lot of courage.

“Can you touch its mind?” Will wanted to know, glancing briefly at Sam.

“Yeah. Now that it’s out of stasis it’s easy. It’s afraid and confused. I think it remembers Sector Seven, but not by much. I get images of pain…” He shivered. “Poor little thing.”

Will approached and the Nokia hissed a warning, like a rattler trying to scare off a potentially dangerous predator. Lennox didn’t turn around, but he cautioned his approach even more.

Wings flared.

Pin-point legs jittered nervously.

“Hey,” he said softly. “We’re not trying to hurt you.”

Red optics brightened briefly.

Suddenly it tilted its head and chirruped. It took tentative steps forward and tilted its head. Another chirrup. This time it sounded quizzical.

Lennox hunkered down, smiling at the cell phone. He had no relation to it, other than the fact that he had seen its birth and death, like Sam had as well. It wasn’t even his. Glen Whitman had ‘donated’ the shell, then had seen it come to life. He had never asked about it again.

There was chittering, then a chirrup, and the Nokia came even closer. Like a frightened animal, sniffing at a hand held out in peace, it inched closer and closer. The red optics scanned Lennox, flying over his face as if following…

“The runes,” Will whispered. “Its looking at the runes.”

He held out a hand. Aside from Ironhide’s name around his wrist, there was a lazily moving string of glyphs running over the back of his hand and down his ring finger.

The Nokia made small hiccupping noises, then inched closer. Barely a breath apart now from Lennox’s fingers, it reached out with a tiny claw and touched the string of glyphs. They swirled around the point of contact and Will held completely still. Those were ancient glyphs, cosmic code, and he couldn’t read it. Whatever they were, the Nokia seemed to be fascinated.

A strange purr emerged from its voice processor.

“Wow,” Will heard Sam whisper, awed. “I… it feels so calm now. It doesn’t understand the runes, but it feels safe.”

Lennox smiled. “Hey,” he addressed the Nokia softly. “I’m Will.”

Red optics met brown eyes, wide with curiosity and without a single flicker of aggression. Lennox turned his hand palm up and after a moment of hesitation, the Nokia carefully stepped onto it. Runes pulsed under the four spindly legs, then sank into Will’s skin. The Nokia made a curious sound and peered hard at the flexible skin, then poked gently as if to find the missing runes.

Will chuckled and rose to stand. “Don’t worry. They’re still there.”

A whirring noise turning into another chirrup, then it clicked softly.

“Looks like you’ve been adopted,” Sam remarked and approached carefully.

The Nokia moved uneasily and its wing-like back structures flared briefly, but it didn’t try to flee or attack.

“It recognizes me,” Sam told the older man. “It knows I’m the one who can touch its mind.”

“How stable is it?” Will wanted to know.

“I can’t feel any drain or imbalance in its core programming.”

“So it’s not just a brief revival?”

“I don’t know, but I doubt it. It’s strong, Will. It wouldn’t have survived otherwise.”

Strong and brave, Will thought.

He remembered the feeling he had had inside the Hoover Dam complex, the sensation of death and loss and so much suffering. It had been suffocating and chilling and terrifying. The little cell had survived all that. And it hadn’t come back as a raving lunatic.

Ratchet came almost noiselessly closer, but the Nokia reacted anyway. It chattered nervously and clung to Will’s shirt-sleeves.

“Hey, it’s okay, little one,” Lennox almost cooed. “That’s Ratchet. A friend. He’s the resident medic and he had as much a hand in bringing you back as Sam.”

The grip tightened and the red optics flared with fear.

“This will take time,” Sam murmured, shooting apologetic looks at Ratchet.

“You are as much qualified to examine it as I am,” Ratchet only said calmly. “I already did a first scan and it looks good. There are still parts that need repairs, but you can handle it, Sam. For now we should leave it to acclimatize at its own rate. It will need time to process the changes.”

Lennox nodded and stroked two fingers over the winged back. The Nokia huddled against him, clicking softly.

“It chose you as a friend,” Ratchet remarked.

Will smiled a little. “Seems like it. Sam?”

“Calming down.”

“Good.”

“I’m keeping an eye on its state-of-mind. I think we should give it time to realize nothing bad is going to happen, then I want to take a closer look at the circuits,” Sam decided.

Lennox nodded. “I’m game. For now, I think we’ll show the little guy its new home and introduce it to its new friends.”

 

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Ironhide regarded the reborn little cell phone with wary optics. For all its tiny size it was something created by the Allspark and it had been aggressive for the few minutes it had been alive. Still, it wasn’t a Decepticon and it wasn’t attacking anyone now. There was nothing inherently evil about it.

Surprisingly enough, the Nokia didn’t seem very much afraid of the black robot. Maybe because Lennox was always with him, maybe because Ironhide wasn’t trying to poke and prod and scan it.

It kept close to Will wherever he went, either transformed into its cell phone mode and tucked away in a pocket, or sitting on his shoulder and watching everything with interest. Now and then it excitedly chattered away when it saw a particular string of runes.

“I feel like a newspaper to the little guy,” Will joked.

“Do you think he can read it?” Ironhide asked.

A shrug. “No idea.”

Because communication was rather difficult. The Nokia didn’t speak and no one understood the chittering language. While Sam picked up the general meaning of a burst of strange sounds because he could ‘sense’ the meaning, Will had no such luck. It was a hit and miss kind of communication.

Closing his eyes, Will enjoyed the last rays of sunshine of the day, feeling himself relax due to the combined warmth and the closeness of his partner. Ironhide’s metal armor soaked up the sun as well, though didn’t convert it as easily into energon as Bumblebee’s, who was more specialized, and it radiated heat into the human hybrid as he lay on top of the Topkick’s hood. It was something they did quite often, Ironhide in car mode, Will propped up against the windscreen, long legs stretched out, just relaxing.

On some days Ironhide would activate the hardlight hologram, on others, as if he sensed Will wasn’t in the mood, he left it off. The Nokia had folded its tiny legs under its body, optics dimmed, resting on the roof of the cab.

“It’s the last one,” Will said into the silence. “All the others… Sam tried to find something, but they’re truly gone. Even when knowing what to look for, they… expired.”

“As sad as it is,” Ironhide rumbled, “it’s for the better. Trauma like that is hard to work through.”

“Experience?” Will asked quietly.

“Not personally. You saw what its older brother did to you, Sam and the lab. This little guy is relatively innocent. Other shells were far larger, more aggressive and were killed with the same method.”

“Yeah.” Will brushed his palm over the smooth, black finish in an absent-minded manner. “It was lucky and stayed more or less sane. Ratchet thinks it might one day learn to communicate in our language. Or find another means of making itself understood.”

“Life is a learning process,” was the philosophical answer.

Will chuckled. “Yeah. That I know.”

His fingers still trailed over the black hood and he finally sat up, cross-legged, gazing out over the desert. It was getting darker and they should be going back, but he didn’t feel like it at all. The Nokia twittered a question and he smiled at it.

“Afraid of the dark?” he teased.

It sprung up, chattering indignantly, and Will laughed. With a little huff, it poked hard at the hand held out to take it back. He smiled apologetically.

“Joking,” Lennox calmed it.

Another twitter, then it transformed and he put it into a pocket. He slid down the hood and got into the cab. Ironhide turned back to the base, headlights piercing the falling night.

* * *

Jazz felt happy for the little cell phone. It had survived an incredible ordeal and had come out sane.

Just like him.

Only different.

He had actually died. The last remaining life force that had so stubbornly remained in his spark had only brought him back because of the Allspark. The Nokia had no spark and its consciousness had put itself into stasis, cocooned in a steadily dying place. It had been rescued in time.

Jazz sighed softly. They were survivors of a kind, but not alike.

Studying the reports Prime had forwarded to him he found he had been looking at the same mail for over ten minutes and still didn’t know what it said. With an annoyed rumble he switched off the computer and left his office. Nothing pressing was going on, so he would keep himself busy with some hands-on stuff, not mind-numbing leader stuff.

Ironhide was his first thought and the weapons specialist was only too happy to show him his latest weapons plans. Jazz found them quite interesting and thought that some of these modifications would probably suit him, too. When Ironhide proposed some tests, he was only too happy to say yes.

It took his mind off matters. Off himself.

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Lack of communication was a problem. It had tried, but its processors seemed to scramble all it wanted to say and turn it into gibberish.

It was annoying. It was a bother. It was an obstacle in understanding and being understood.  
The human called Will Lennox, the one with the most fascinating skin it had ever seen, was patient and tried to bridge the gap. The other human, Sam Witwicky, had the advantage of being able to at least read part of its responses because of his abilities.

Still, the Nokia felt deaf and dumb.

The Autobots had received it with mixed responses. Their leader was cautious, but friendly. The big black one tolerated the Nokia because of Lennox, it seemed, though he had apparently taken an interest outside that connection. The one called Jazz had been helpful in reconnecting the download function, which had enabled the little mech to access the internet. That helped and the music sites Jazz had pointed it to weren’t all too bad either. His partner Barricade was scary and the Nokia kept away from him. Ratchet was associated with medical procedures and Bumblebee was just another Autobot with who the Nokia wasn’t in that close contact.

Things changed when Lennox drove to the Airforce base. The Nokia felt excited, watching everything going on around them with interest. It had to hide as they entered the base and it couldn’t walk around freely – safety restrictions; it understood those – but it was incredible nevertheless.

And then it met Captain Mike Bowman.

For some reason the little bot was immediately interested in the human. Lennox had been interesting because of the runes. They had fascinated the Nokia. It couldn’t understand them, but it recognized them as positive, as safe. The human captain was… different. And he was interested in the tiny life form.

It started to hang our around the captain.

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Mike Bowman had been fascinated by the mechanical life forms the moment he had been briefed on their existence, and being liaison to the Autobot base had been like a dream come true. Working with Will Lennox, who was the Autobots’ counter-part to his job, proved to be unlike anything he had ever done before. The man himself was unlike anyone he knew, right down to bearing apparently alive runes on his skin, but he was a nice guy.

The day Lennox brought the Nokia along Bowman knew he really had to give the idea of transferring to the Autobot base another thought. Lennox told him the background of the small mech and it touched something inside the pilot. It hurt to think that his own kind could have been so cruel, but there were shadows in every corner and he got to know them bit by bit. The longer he worked with the Autobots, the more trust he received. Part of that trust was giving Bowman a better understanding of events; especially of so many years ago.

“So communication is a problem, huh?”

The Nokia gazed up at him, apparently a bit miffed, as well as embarrassed. It chattered something.

“Ever tried text messages?”

It gave an irritated squeal.

“We tried,” Lennox translated. “Something inside the little guy is scrambling all attempts of communications. He wants to say something, but the translation comes out wrong. Ratchet said he found a similar illness in humans. It’s called aphasia. At least a subcategory of it. It knows what it’s saying, but what we hear is not what it thinks it says.”

“You keep saying ‘it’. Ironhide is a ‘he’…”

Lennox smiled. “Wish I could give you an easy explanation as to genders. They don’t really have them, but in their language they call themselves ‘he’. There are some that are ‘she’, but don’t ask me to tell you why. Something concerning rank or status or whatever. We keep referring to the little guy as an ‘it’ because for one, it was created here and second, we don’t know whether it would have a gender-specific address for itself.”

“Or a name,” Bowman pointed out.

“Or that.”

The captain regarded the Nokia as it watched them curiously, making little chirruping noises.

“Text messages don’t work and the processor is scrambled. What a mess,” he remarked.

It got him a warbling chirp in return.

“What about image communication?”

Lennox laughed. “You want to try? Be my guest. It’s infinitely curious, so you can work with it if you want. Try to teach him.”

Bowman shrugged. “Sure. On the base?”

“As long as you two stay under cover.”

A grin answered that. “Hey, it’s not a friggin’ huge truck.”

The Nokia shrilled in agreement and transformed, showing it understood perfectly.

Bowman studied the insect-like mech. “So… you want to hang around?”

It scurried around the table, twittering loudly.

“I take that as a yes.” Bowman held out a hand. “May I offer a lift?”

It stepped almost gracefully onto the offered palm and chirruped. The captain looked at Lennox.

Will smiled. “Have fun, Captain.”

“Oh, I think we will as long as the little guy understands the rules.”

*twip!*

“Which I think he does. But I’ll give him the Airforce handbook anyway,” Bowman laughed.

*twiptwip!*

Lennox smiled, nodding. “Any problems, you know where to find us. Have fun with your new pal, Captain.”

Bowman nodded. “I think we will.”

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A month later the Nokia more or less made clear that it wanted to stay with Bowman. It came as no big surprise, at least to Will and Sam, who had kept track of the little guy and his Airforce captain. While communication was haphazard still and image communication worked only to a certain point, there was a connection between those two. Bowman loved the little mech and he had undertaken efforts to help the Nokia make itself understood. The small bot had even replaced his old phone, now doubling as a communication device – and it worked perfectly. Incoming and outgoing calls and text messages were crystal clear; only its own were a garbled mess.

Ratchet had made sure that all filters and security features were in place. The Nokia had been both amused and slightly annoyed that the Autobots didn’t trust him to work securely. Still, he had let the medic do his job.

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Optimus Prime knelt on the ground, looking at their human ally and the revived creation of the Allspark.

“We appreciate your care,” he addressed Bowman, “and your cooperation,” he transferred his gaze to the Nokia on Bowman’s shoulder. “But I must stress the danger of discovery.”

The Nokia warbled a little, red optics flashing while the wings flared.

Bowman smiled grimly. “We know that, Prime. Unless there’s an emergency, Wi-Fi stays in cell phone mode. He can explore all he wants while it’s only me, but all other access is done by wireless connection.” The captain shrugged. “Sam helped me install a port so the little guy can keep up to date and sate his thirst for knowledge.”

Prime nodded. “I understand. It still is a risk, but I respect your wish. Wi-Fi is, after all, a sentient individual. And he is in your care, Captain Bowman.”

“Thank you, Optimus Prime.”

The tall Autobot leader rose. “Seeing what had to perish in the past, Wi-Fi’s survival is a miracle. His sanity even more so.”

Bowman could only agree. The small mech was damaged, yes. In more ways than one. But he was sentient. Wi-Fi had not only chosen to be a ‘he’ when he had finally understood gender issues and the matter of the neutral ‘it’, he had also insisted on a name. Since a brand was never a name, more like his sub-group, he had finally decided on Wi-Fi, which was fine with everyone. Bowman took to calling him ‘Spidey’ to tease him, which had already resulted in annoyed mutters and a pellet to his leg. Those gattling gun pellets could hurt. It didn’t stop the teasing, though.

“It is,” Bowman said softly, smiling at the quiet warble from the Nokia.

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They left two hours later, accompanied by Lennox. It was a quiet ride back, with Wi-Fi sitting on Ironhide’s dashboard, watching the road with excited interest.

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Lennox’s duties as liaison to Nellis brought him to the Airbase a lot. With the construction of the Ghost-2, the selection of a crew, technicians and engineers, choosing people they could trust, and running them through the recruitment mill, his life was never boring. The same factors applied to those people that had applied to prior choices for Epps’ second unit as well.

Throughout his visits and stays, Will never failed to spend time with Wi-Fi and ‘his’ human. While the little Nokia was unable to voice what he felt and thought correctly, the way he stuck with Bowman and chattered quietly now and then, or just clung to the captain in an almost possessive way, said it all.

“Adopted,” Ironhide had remarked the second time they had paid a visit.

And he was right. Where Bowman went, Wi-Fi was never missing. Since the captain wasn’t married and in no relationship at the moment, there was no danger of an outsider stumbling over the Nokiabot. He lived on the base and the Air Force was his life, he had once told Lennox.

Will understood. Career military. He still wanted to sway Bowman into transferring to the Autobot base one day. They needed people like him and the chance that the Autobots’ presence leaked to the world in general was rising with each passing month. One day the President would have to announce the alien contact; hopefully not just after an armada of Decepticons had attacked the planet.

Until then, life remained as top secret as every day.

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Barricade would never confess to worrying about anything or anyone. He might give certain situations another thought, but worry was a weakness, and Decepticons never showed weakness.

Then again, no other Decepticon had ever had a spark-bond, as far as he knew. It made a difference. It made all the difference in the world. To be partnered with Jazz was even more outstanding because despite all the outside differences, they were so incredibly alike.

That his partner was torn inside because of the events around the revived Nokiabot didn’t really surprise Barricade. He had his own demons surrounding the death and rebirth of the silver Autobot. He rarely let them out or even close to the surface, but right now he did because he shared them with Jazz.

The Solstice trembled a little and Barricade felt every shiver through his sensors. While he didn’t have the delicate and highly receptive sensor net Jazz possessed, he wasn’t blind. Sharing full body contact in their car forms, he let the silver one push ever closer, seeking and receiving a comfort Jazz would actually never openly confess to out loud. These were private moments. Their moments.

It was getting better and soon Jazz would push everything aside once more, be his usual self.

Barricade opened his side of the bond and sent a silent request for Jazz to do the same. The offer was gratefully taken.

Barricade didn’t mind this sliding toward sharing. Not at all. Sometimes the energy rush was what was needed to erase darker thoughts. It had worked throughout the all-out civil war on Cybertron, and matters had been a lot worse there. Now it worked its own magic, calming his partner and calming himself. Knowing Jazz was there, alive, did wonders to his own mental condition.

A hum reverberated through him, followed by a satisfied smile that was neither an image nor a word, really. It was just… there. None of the scientists throughout known history had ever been able to explain the bond, to pin it down in formulas, equations or a satisfying explanation. It was just there, it filled a void.

Jazz’s smile widened. ::Sucker::

Barricade uncharacteristically laughed and pulled him in tight. ::Autobot:: he only replied.


End file.
